


i'm tired of feeling this way

by zoroarks



Series: defalt/aiden [1]
Category: Watch Dogs (Video Games)
Genre: Enemies to Lovers, Hurt/Comfort, M/M, Self-Harm, Suicidal Thoughts, au where bad blood never happens, literally haven't finished the game lmao
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-08-12
Updated: 2018-08-12
Packaged: 2019-06-26 05:30:52
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,431
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15656751
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/zoroarks/pseuds/zoroarks
Summary: he spent ten years searching for raymond kenney, but the one time he made any progress, defalt couldn't pin him down. what's the point in trying anymore, if he'll never avenge his brother? it's clear that he's nothing but a failure, and he believes there's only one way out. no vigilante could let that happen, though - not in good conscious, at least.





	i'm tired of feeling this way

the night is dead silent, or it seems that way - whatever noise is making its way into his cheap hideout from the surrounding city, defalt can't hear it. all he hears is one pitch, a constant ringing in his ears that, were he not already out of his mind, he firmly believes could drive him crazy. suddenly, there's sound, and he hardly realizes what it is for a moment, even though he was the cause. it looks like he's knocked everything off of his desk with one action, impulse leading to the act of destruction. a ceramic mug shatters on the floor, black coffee spilling over everything else that was knocked to the ground. the dj is mostly apathetic; he can't find it in himself to care about his mask, about his laptop, about kenney's dossier, about... about... the picture?

oh, god - the picture, a simple, unframed photograph which ripped in half when something hit it on the way down, then proceeded to land in the puddle of what once was his trusty drink. why did he do this in the first place? is he high? probably, but he can't remember. all he remembers is the sickening knowledge that raymond kenney is far under the radar once again, that he knows to watch out for defalt's probing more specifically than before. then, it's just static, leading up to where he is right now. his attention snaps back to his photo, and he falls to his hands and knees on the ground, desperately peeling the two torn pieces off of the floor. the subjects of the picture are himself and his younger brother, ages fifteen and twelve, respectively. the way the rip formed, sort of diagonal, almost evokes a bout of broken, hysterical laughter out of the one-collected artist. the majority of his body got one side, while the majority of his late sibling's body got the other. both are stained and soggy, practically dissolving in his hands. maybe this is a fitting thing to happen. maybe he's been holding on too long.

unfortunately, he still doesn't know how to let go. it's clear that he's never going to be able to avenge the brother he lost all those years ago, yet, he still can't just get over it. defalt is in too far over his head for any sort of thing like that. yet again acting before his brain can even process what the hell is going on, he finds himself curling up into a ball on the ground, sobbing into his own knees. he can't remember the last time he cried like this, especially not while intoxicated (which, realistically, he always is). that's the whole point, the reason he cuts his life shorter and risks taking pill after pill: what he wants is to feel happy, or empty. one is just as good as the other. right now, though? right now, he doesn't feel either. his emotions, his guilt, and every other little thing are hitting him at full force. is this was his brother had felt, back then? the thought makes him want to vomit, and vomit he does, contributing to the mess he's already made.

it's clear now, for the first time, that he's a failure. a pathetic wreck of a man who can't do anything right. to him, it feels as if he's been blindfolded for the past ten or so years, and now that he's finally seeing again, he... he doesn't like what's before his eyes, but that doesn't change the image. his rage had kept him from thinking clearly about what he was accomplishing, where he was going. why had he ever felt anything like pride, when he had never really been getting one bit closer? everything he is is fake, the same personality used on stage so people have a good time. the way he is now is the real him, in a pool of his own vomit, pale cheeks streaked with tears. now that he's finally paying attention to what he's feeling, he's made the quick decision that this is it. he can't do it anymore. he just... can't.

his entire body shakes as he stands up, using his now-cleared desk for support and bringing his mask up with him. he doesn't even know why he rubs it a little cleaner and straps it on, but he supposes he's just used to doing that whenever he goes out. he's lived his life, in the eyes of the public, as defalt, not jb markowicz. perhaps it's fitting that he dies that way, too. at this point, he doesn't even care about what happens. he just wants it to be over. he wants the things he's feeling to go away, and he knows only one thing with utmost certainty: when he's dead, he won't feel a damned thing. that sounds just perfect right now.

stumbling outdoors, unsure if it's nerves or if it's a bad dose of some party drug that's making him so unbalanced, defalt makes his way to the fire escape of the nearest tall-looking building. he doesn't even know where he is right now, doesn't know where he's going to die... maybe that's for the better.

* * *

aiden pearce is under the impression that defalt is dead. additionally, he believes that he was responsible for this.

it hadn't been his intent, but he'd known when he fled from the scene of the crime that the younger man was more than unconscious. strangely, he hadn't heard anything on the news about it, but he'd marked that up to not paying attention. or, maybe they did televise it, using some alias that the hacker had made for himself along the line. the vigilante didn't know and, frankly, he didn't care. what he'd done was regrettable, in its own way - he knows it's wrong to kill people - but it was no different than any other death he's caused. defalt was the one who'd started shit, anyway. aiden can't be blamed for finishing it, can he?

case in point, he hadn't been looking for the younger hacker - no, nothing like that. in fact, he hadn't been looking for much of anything, merely wandering. the discovery of another man on the rooftops had, in fact, been a coincidence... a coincidence that seems crazier with every detail he takes note of, and suddenly, a coincidence that's dangerous. a thousands possibilities to explain the scenario are running through his head, the most likely being that defalt lived, tracked him down, and decided to confront him right here. (for what? revenge? aiden supposes that it doesn't matter much, even if he'd truly love to know.) accordingly, the first thing he does is aim a pistol in the dj's direction, ready to end his life in a moment if he needs to. it seems that he has the upper hand in the situation, because the other man doesn't seem to be armed, nor is he doing much of anything at all. he isn't even looking at the vigilante, actually, like he's invisible, or not really here. perhaps defalt is trying to lure him into a false sense of security, but he wouldn't fall for such a trick. he keeps his weapon trained on the other, the one who still refuses to turn in his direction and is instead moving to a completely different place.

defalt's back is to the vigilante as he stares across the city, standing mere inches from the edge of the roof. it's impossible to see his expression, hidden beneath the same mask as always, but he looks even worse than he had before, hollow and defeated and practically dead already. another sign comes, then, something shocking - his sagging shoulders begin to shake, silently for a moment and then accompanied by sobs. like a lone wolf howling at the moon, the hacker wails into the night, heard by none (other than aiden) and only wishing that he had some form of comfort. it doesn't come.

time seems to slow down, with two major events happening at exactly the same instant: jb begins his shuffle to the very, very edge, feet sliding against the roof, and pearce realizes exactly what it is his enemy is intent on doing. they can both hear a roaring in their ears, defalt's accompanied with other noises nobody can hear, phantom sounds that he can just hardly begin to grasp. it's okay, though, because he won't have to do that for much longer. sky blue eyes squeezed shut, countenance pained but still covered, jb markowicz takes his final step off of a shitty apartment building.

 

**Author's Note:**

> this is actually a dumb kin indulgence ship but i hope other people like it too or something.
> 
> comments are greatly appreciated - nothing inspires me to keep writing stuff like this more (aka finish chapter two, which... i will probably write, i swear). even if you don't leave anything, thank you! even one hit means a lot.


End file.
